


Stone

by charonhenson



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charonhenson/pseuds/charonhenson





	Stone

He can taste it.

The luminescence, running like a river in his Herculean body.

The marbled fluidity, shifting, glowing, sparking through his fragile veins. 

Flowing like dust in the autumn winds, brushing through arteries, settling in impossibly tiny capillaries. 

Hardening into fractured statues of branches that echo through his hollowed frame, ivy inside an oak tree, poisoning, suffocating.

Preserving him.

Chalk remnants wash down his convulsing throat, choking him; bones like geodes, crack them open, destroyed just to catch a fleeting glimpse of beauty; granite muscles dragging torturously past limestone tendons, holding him heavy and still while his magma heart forces burning iron oozing through the cracks in the diamonds, searing his pumiced flesh, wearing it down, it's in me Dean, the air scraping it away, grating him down to the core. 

The rusted tang of earth sticks to his tongue, cloying, sharp and oppressive.

His eyes are hardened to dulled emeralds as ruby red spills from his splintering pores.

Count the pebbles bouncing in his head, one, two, too many, too much, clenching in together, pushing outwards, too strong, too weak, everything shifting, crunching over and in and out and together, you're supposed to be pure, nothing but dust now, dust and dirt and the crush of rocks buried for millennia, because the ground is where you belong, where you were born to go.

Gasp in, he's desperate, air, oxygen, anything, anything more than the staggering weight of rubble pushing down on his carefully woven ribcage. He opens his mouth, his eyes, his mind, sense the sand displacing, rushing into the gaping void left open, how do I make it stop, inviting, stifling, choking. 

He can feel himself sinking, back into the earth and sand, back into the pounding weight of tangled roots and sweeping tundras, whispering deserts and towering forests, squeezing their tendrils of molten rock and eroded dust around his crumbling form. The reinforcements crack, he can feel his blood sizzle and harden, brittle passages snapping like fingers, like the smallest twigs on a mighty redwood as it falls, defeated by a jagged strip of metal, metal jams in the roof of his mouth, his pupils shine with it, silver, bronze, white, blinding, impossible-

Disintegrating into powder, dissolving into an undug grave, made especially for him.

Remains swirling in the wind. 

You're gonna be just fine.

You understand?


End file.
